


And in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make

by orphan_account



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Angst, Hamburg Era, It's pretty gay (obviously), John's in denial, M/M, McLennon, Period-Typical Homophobia, Some use of slurs, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-22
Updated: 2019-09-22
Packaged: 2020-05-16 11:13:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19317040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Paul's face clouded over with resentment. "You really think you're too good for us, don't you John?"How could John explain? What could he do, what could he say?For once, John was at a loss for words.***While success and fame are on everyone's minds, John can't help but be preoccupied with something very different - something named Paul.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline and some other general info might be a little messed up, I've strayed off a little bit from some elements of what actually happened. Otherwise I hope you enjoy this piece! If you want feel free to comment or give kudos, it really makes my day :)

It was a cold Friday, as were most at this time of year. The four sat sleepily in the smoke-filled room, letting the haze float around. Who would open a window in this weather anyway?

George had been absentmindedly strumming chords. Ringo was snoring, flopped over the moth-eaten couch. Paul was daydreaming, only moving to take a smoke or occasionally fiddle around with his guitar. John sat on the floor, staring at Paul idly.

It was unusual for Paul to be around on a Friday night. He had been spending his evenings doing better things - better people, actually. Girls with blonde hair and heavy accents, barely speaking English, not that it mattered. It was almost ironic. Sweet, innocent Paul had been getting his kicks sleeping around with every girl in Hamburg.

Not that John cared. He'd do it too if he could be bothered to get up off his arse.

"John, have a listen, why don'tcha?" Paul tapped John on the shoulder lightly. He played a few notes, getting himself into the rhythm.

John sighed. He got up and attempted to swipe a pack of cigarettes from Paul.

"Where are you off too then?"

"Out." Again he tried to grab the box. Paul smiled and shoved it down his pants. "As if I would let you take these."

John sucked in a breath. _And people say I'm the immature one?_ He stormed out, slamming the door behind him. It was irrational, even he knew it, but he couldn't care less.

He was immediately hit with a wave of cold air. John leaned against the doorway, letting the wind blow onto his face. He should've brought a jacket, but the weather was the least of his worries.

 _Maybe I should just leave, get the fuck out of here._ John mulled over this possibility. Just him, making it big. The next Elvis, maybe. He'd be every girl's true love, and there'd be no competition for dates, thank god.

Paul always got all the girls first. He was naturally charming, after all. He was polite to his dates, he had those baby-ish features which made all the ladies melt. When he looked at you it was like-

Shit. He couldn't think like that, not after...

"Fuckin' hell. Stop acting like a queer Lennon!" He hissed to himself. He was barely aware he'd even said it out loud. John slumped forward, exhausted from the baggage he had been carrying. He wouldn't admit it - that wasn't John's way - but something had been on his mind for the past few days. Something named Paul.

***

It started at a party, only a week earlier. Whose, he couldn't tell you. Maybe Lisa's, maybe Stuart's, the details were unimportant.

John had gotten absolutely shitfaced. He would gladly do that anyway, but that time around he had all the more reason to. Everything had been so slow. He was anxious for life to return to its fast pace, and a night of heavy drinking might just speed things up. As soon as he'd arrived at the party he'd pounced on the first drink he saw, desperate to leave behind the boringness that had become his everyday life.

John, Paul and a few others sat crowded around a small table. Drinks were passed from hand to hand, spilling on the dusty carpet. Cigarette smoke wafted through the air. A flickering light overhead illuminated the faces of the guests as they lounged on the floor. Paul had a girl on each arm, but that wasn't anything new - he always had two, three, four girls hanging onto to his every word wherever they went. Meanwhile, John was drinking with fierce ambition, barely listening to the slurred stories being recounted to him.

Soon enough Paul and one of the girls got up. They were met with whistles and cheers as they exited, everyone knowing full well what they'd be up to. The other girl, poor thing, looked so heartbroken John decided to make it up to her. She was hardly good company, but it didn't matter - he was drunk and horny and she was desperate enough to make out with him. Too bad she'd get her heart broken twice. Soon enough John excused himself and left too.

He didn't remember afterwards how or why he got there, but John was standing in the bathroom. He suddenly felt totally overwhelmed. He gripped the edges of the sink, his alcohol-induced happiness leaving him. It felt as though all the chatter and background music went silent. All he could hear was the buzz of his own thoughts and the pounding of his heart.

This static was broken by soft moaning. The squeaks of a bed. "Oh, Paul..."

Great. He had to listen to his friend getting screwed. John stumbled back, landed on the yellowing tiled floor with a thud. _Shit like this always happens to me... why can't they just shut the hell up?_  He leaned back, closing his eyes, trying to block out the sounds. It wasn't working. He couldn't get rid of the image of Paul... doing it with some girl.

Suddenly John felt this familiar ache, right in the pit of his stomach. His face was hot like he had gone all red. It was a feeling he knew all too well, he'd felt it about hundreds of girls. But he wasn't supposed to be that way.

Not about _Paul_.

Maybe he felt that way for the girl involved... maybe it was the idea... Paul couldn't be the reason... He heard Paul laugh softly. It was as if his heart had skipped a beat.

 _There's no way,_ John thought, _t_ _his isn't real._

He staggered to the toilet. He felt sick, and the thoughts, the feelings, they wouldn't go away. He threw up, his whole body heaving as the remains of the party and the day before got flushed down the toilet.

 _"The fuck is wrong with you?"_ John wanted to scream. He felt confused, disgusted, ashamed that he could feel anything like this. He sunk back onto the floor, passing out within a few seconds. He almost felt relieved, trying to comfort himself as he drifted off.  _I'll sober up tomorrow and this will all go away._

After all, he wasn't some freak. This was a fluke, something he'd forget about in an instant.

***

John woke up lying on the bathroom floor. His head hurt like hell, his vision blurry. John groaned softly. _The hangover I'll have after this..._  He massaged his forehead, aching from the night before.

'Where is that bastard? Bet he's off with my girl, knowing him." "Shut up, he's sleeping!"

He opened his eyes to see Paul and George standing over him, eyes wide. "Bloody hell John! Passed out on the bathroom floor again, are we?" Paul's laugh snapped John back to reality, and the night's events came crashing back on him like a ton of bricks.

George passed him a glass of water, watched carefully as he took a few sips. George was always a little worried about the other band members, whether he would admit it or not. After a few moments, he got up to leave.

"Try not to throw up." George smiled tiredly. He was probably exhausted himself.

He wandered off, leaving John alone, staring Paul in the face. While George had looked concerned, it was obvious this whole situation was damn near hilarious to Paul. It was plastered all over his face.

"What's so goddamn funny?" John sat up.

"Nothing!"

"Yeah, sure. This is all so fucking funny to you, innit?"

"What the hell did I do?" Paul backed away slightly, confusion in his eyes.

"Get the fuck out."

"What's your problem?" He sneered. John pointed a shaking finger to the door. "I said get the fuck out. _Now!_ "

Paul stared for a second, trying to figure out what was wrong. Realising it was useless, he left. John wanted to vomit again. His breathing was getting faster and faster, his heart pounding out of his chest, sweat beading at his forehead. He looked up at the cracked ceiling. If only he could lock himself in this tiny bathroom forever.

***

The door swung open. John knew exactly who it would be. Apparently the universe had decided to play some sort of sick joke on him and send Paul out there too.

"John?" He turned away, shivering as a gust of wind went past. He didn't want to even look at Paul. 

"What's gotten into you?" Paul laughed and pushed him lightly. It was all a joke to him. Just John being daft, that's all.

"Y'know what? You're a fucking prick. I'm sick of the lot of you." 

"Oh fuck off, you know you love me." He smiled, ignoring John's scowl.

"Watch it Mccartney. I'm going to get outta here, y'know that? Maybe I'll just piss off back to Liverpool. You and George and Ringo can find a replacement."

Paul's face fell. "So you're going to leave us then?"

"...You're going to leave me?"

And god, John wanted to cry. Paul's face clouded over with resentment. "You really think you're too good for us, don't you John?"

How could John explain? What could he do, what could he say?

For once, John was at a loss for words.

"You could at least answer me." Paul lit up a cigarette and crossed his arms, waiting for a reply that John wasn't sure he could give.

John turned to face him. "Let's go back inside. I'm just being an idiot, it's nothing." Paul rolled his eyes. "Alright then." He smiled to himself and grabbed John's arm.

John froze.

"What is it now?"

He shook his head. Paul laughed softly. "C'mon, let's go." The two walked back in, and for one, small moment, everything was okay.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey lovelies! Here's another chapter to this story. I'm still getting a feel for the story and doing introductions and all that jazz, hopefully you still like it. As always comments and kudos are very much appreciated!

Something was wrong with John.

 _Something's always wrong with John_ , Paul thought. He'd joked that John always had a complex, a crisis. There was always something for him to be dramatic about.

But this seemed different, somehow.

Paul washed his face and combed his hair, quietly replaying the night's events over and over. Something had set John off, and he didn't know what.

"Paul? Hurry up in there, I need to use the bathroom!" It was George, banging on the door. He walked out.

"D'ya mind? It's fucking 11 pm! I don't need the landlady up our asses about another thing, she's already looking for a reason to kick us out." George gave a flustered apology and hurried in, slamming the door behind him. Even though everyone labelled him as quiet, he could be bloody loud when he wanted to. 

"What was that about?" John mumbled sleepily from his bed. Their room was so tiny Paul was practically standing over him.

"Just George."

"Tell 'im... to shut up." John rolled over and fell back asleep.

 _I should probably turn in myself._ Paul looked down at John. He was curled up at the corner of his tiny bed, clothes and blankets strewn over him. He looked so peaceful lying under all that mess. Almost like a little boy again. His mouth was slightly ajar, his normally slicked back hair laying on the pillow, his hand curled up by his face. 

Paul flopped onto his own bed. He groaned, massaging the back of his neck.

 _Oh god, not this again. You've got to stop doing this. Moping around._ But how could he not? For the guy who could get with any girl, the one person he truly liked was unattainable.

And a boy.

Paul couldn't stop looking at him. His stomach twisted into a knot. He wanted John so bad - it was like a hunger, an urge. He _needed_ John. Staring at him, Paul felt like he was going to go insane.

He definitely wouldn't be sleeping tonight.

***

"Oh George, what the hell am I gonna do?"

Paul slumped over the bar counter, his hair falling over his face.

He was so, so in love. He hated himself for it and yet he couldn't deny it. He didn't know to move on, how to fix it. He'd been spending most nights complaining to George at the pub, getting drunk and then taking home any girl who gave him the time of day. They'd have sex, with Paul thinking of John the whole time. The girls always hoped that Paul might be back again, but Paul knew he never would.

"You can stop feeling sorry for yourself, that's a start. Go find someone else to fuck."

"I've tried that already!" George softened slightly. "Look, mate, every other girl in Hamburg is at your feet. I'm sure this girl is no different, she'll come around soon enough."

'She' most certainly wouldn't. He wasn't an idiot, he knew he didn't have a chance with John. He couldn't even try to make a move on him, not if he wanted to lose one of his closest friends and probably have his reputation ruined.

Paul felt so lost. He'd never liked a guy before. He'd certainly never loved one. He wasn't queer... at least, he didn't think so.

George patted him on the back. "C'mon, let's go outside, have a ciggie. It'll do you good to get some fresh air."

***

Paul didn't remember when exactly he started to have feelings for John. It had sort of built up over time. It was little things, like getting butterflies whenever John would look at him, or talking about John when he wasn't at all relevant to conversations ("Hmm, I reckon John would enjoy this." "Oh yeah, John went there one time." "No, John hates that stuff.") or thinking about John during his more... intimate moments.

One day the realisation hit him. It was during practice. Watching John sing those soppy love songs, gritting his teeth slightly as he tried to play the harder bits of the songs, his face lighting up when he finally got it - that, that was the moment when Paul fell in love. Now he'd fallen in so deep he couldn't get back out.

Paul stared up at the flickering neon bar sign, and then back to the patrons loitering outside. Every couple screamed reminders of the things he couldn't have. The boy holding his girl close, whispering sweet nothings. The blonde sharing a drink with her boyfriend, giggling as he told her bad jokes. Even the wasted guy leaning against the brick wall trying to pick up girls. Paul closed his eyes, letting his mind drift off to the daydreams he had made up in his head. The ones where him and John were together, and they were _happy_.

Why couldn't he have that same happiness? Why did he have to suffer?

"Ready to go back in?" George held open the bar door, waiting. "Yep." He followed George back into the dusty confines of the pub, ten times worse than before.

***

After another beer, or three, George tapped him on the shoulder. "Hey, look who it is." Before Paul even heard properly he heard a voice cut across the room.

"What are you doing out here?" He looked up to see John, with Ringo by his side. "I could say the same about you, John."

He couldn't deal with this, not today. John scoffed. "Shouldn't you be off fucking some bird by now?"

"Aw come off him John, the poor lad's been through enough." John raised an eyebrow. "He has, has he?" George nodded. "He's in love."

John paused slightly, took a drag. A sneer curled up on his lips. "Who is she then?" Paul stiffened. "What's it to you?"

"Nothing, nothing. Just... interested."

"Don't go stealing his girl, alright?" George stared him down. Paul felt so relieved. Thank god for George, he was too tired to argue. "C'mon Rings, let's go."

Paul remained fixated on his feet. He couldn't bear to look John in the eye.

"I wouldn't actually take your girl, although you probably deserve it. Going around with everyone you can get your hands on, there's gotta be some for the rest of us." John laughed sheepishly, trying to break the silence.

"...You miserable bastard, you really love her, don't you?"

"I really do."

John went quiet for a moment. If Paul didn't know better he'd say John almost seemed resentful. No, he couldn't be. He offered Paul a cigarette. He took it, accepting it as a sign of solidarity. "Well, good luck. Don't get too hung up on her though, we have other stuff to worry about."

"Easy for you to say. What am I gonna do, just stop loving her?"

"Look, there are other people out there, aren't there?"

Paul nodded. He couldn't be bothered to speak.

"I'm not helping, am I?" John sighed. "This isn't what you want to hear, is it? You want me to say something else."

I want you to say you love me. I want you to say that you think about me when I'm gone. I want you to want me. "John..."

"I'm sorry I was a dick earlier." Paul stayed quiet.

John flicked his cigarette to the ground. "There's no winning with us, is there? We always end up fighting these days." He laughed bitterly and made his way over to some girl who had been eying him up.

There really was no winning. Not for Paul anyway. If John knew what his true feelings were... he'd have to go a lot further than Liverpool to get away from the mess it would make.

He waved over the bartender, ordering another beer. Alcohol could at least ease the pain and the anger he was feeling.

"It's him, isn't it?"

Paul swung around. It was George, standing solemnly behind him, tapping on the bar counter. "W-what?"

"You're in love with John." George's voice was barely a whisper. They both knew the weight of what he had just said. It wasn't something you could just announce to a bar full of people.

He felt the colour drain from his face. "No! Why the hell would you think-"

"Look, Paul. I'm not an idiot. I can tell you... have feelings for him. I know you, and I know how you act around him. It's obvious to me."

Paul couldn't process it. He didn't know what to say, only to stand there with his mouth open like a fucking codfish. Had he been hiding it properly? If George knew...

...How many more people had figured it out?

"Shit. Shit! Who else knows? Did you tell anyone?"

"What? No! Paul, please listen-"

He didn't want to know about it. All he wanted was to go home, make himself a nice cup of tea, and go to bed.

George could tell the whole world. At that moment, he didn't give a damn.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy this chapter! Kudos and comments are appreciated :) If you have any ideas/thoughts, comment them below!

So. Paul was in love with a girl.

Of course he was. _Of course I'm getting the shaft_. John waited outside the bar, flicking his lighter on and off frustratedly.

What did he expect? Paul wasn't a queer in the first place, let alone in love with him. He watched the flame flicker in and out, fixated on its soft glow. Paul was as heterosexual as they come, and he was the fool who fell in love.

He was an idiot to ever even hope Paul might feel something for him.

"Hi." A soft voice drifted past his ears.

It was a short girl with makeup piled on and bright hair. A classic one night stand. She wasn't attractive, not even close. But John needed someone so urgently it hardly mattered. She looked him up and down, grinning like a cheshire cat.

"Fancy a trip back to yours?"

***

John shut the door of their apartment, his heart pounding. The girl sat perched on the bed patiently, staring up at him. He grinned. "Give us a kiss, why don'tcha?"

He'd barely finished before she started. Her mouth tasted like beer and cigarettes, her lipstick staining the edges of his lips. Her hands began to wander, down his chest, down to his pants... He kept kissing her, barely stopping to breathe. The faster he went the less time he had to think about Paul.

Don't think about Paul. Don't think about kissing Paul. Don't think about unbuckling his belt and unzipping his jeans and...

He grabbed at her waist, hard and fast. _She's a shit kisser. Paul would kiss me better than this_. She giggled, pushing him back onto the bed. Onto Paul's bed.

Keep going. Don't worry about it. She straddled him, the two of them kissing drunkenly as she fumbled around with his belt buckle. He doesn't know how much further he can go. It was getting hotter, too hot. Sweat dripped down his forehead as she pulled his shirt off. When he closed his eyes he could almost imagine Paul doing this to him, in the same bed, only...

"What the hell?"

The two jumped up. It was Paul, standing frozen at this door.

John scrambled to get his shirt back on. He was practically shaking. "What are you doing?"

Paul realised what he had walked in on. He looked like a deer in the headlights, flustering over an apology. The girl smirked. "What? Do you wanna join in?"

He shook his head, barely managing a no before shutting the door.

John felt that same sickness from the night of the party. That same fear and frustration. Out of all the people it had to be Paul, didn't it? If it was George, or Ringo, or even Stuart, he could laugh it off. It'd become a joke, a story they'd tell in years to come. He couldn't bear the thought of joking about it with Paul, turning it into a funny anecdote.

She grabbed his arm. "What a strange guy... now, where were we?"

What was he doing? Why was he kissing this stranger when the person he really wanted was out doing god knows what?

"No. You need to leave."

She laughed and tried to kiss him again. John pushed her away. "Get off!"

Her eyes turned cold. "Oh, so you're just going to fucking end it there, huh?" She snarled. "Ridiculous. You're not even hot, you know that? Absolutely fucking unbelievable." She stormed out, giving him the finger as she left.

John didn't even care anymore. He just felt angry, angry at himself mostly. He hadn't felt anything with her. He hadn't felt turned on. He hadn't wanted more.

All he had wanted was Paul.

John buried his head in his hands. He'd never been so vulnerable, so dependent. It was fucking pathetic.

***

The floor was cold and hard, but there wasn't anywhere else to sit. Paul sat down, his head still spinning.

He'd just stopped by to get his car keys. That's all he had needed, but instead, he'd seen John getting it on. In his bed.

He wouldn't be able to sleep, not without thinking about John lying on his bed. Doing it.

He wanted to start crying. He'd never felt this way for anyone before, girl or boy. Suddenly getting rejected by Sandra Simons when he was 16 felt like nothing.

He remembered George's words. It was only from an hour ago, but it felt like a lifetime.  
"It took me a while, but eventually I realised what was going on. Every time you look at him or talk to him... it's as if he's the only person you can see. Everyone else fades away." No one else was like that. No one else took up so much of life, even when they weren't there at all.

Paul closed his eyes. _Maybe if I shut them hard enough, everything will disappear._

Footsteps echoed down the corridor. He stood up, trying to keep some shred of dignity. He watched as the girl John had been with stalked down the hall. Her heels clicked against the linoleum, her necklaces rattling. She noticed Paul and stopped.

"Hey, tell your stupid friend that he's a complete arsehole! Fucking kicked me out before we even got anywhere, what a prick..." She flounced off, grumbling angrily.

_What a bitch..._

So John didn't get to screw her. Paul's eyes drifted down to the end of the door at the end of the hall.

Should he go back up to their apartment? He was terrified, scared of what might happen if he saw John again. And yet he couldn't stand another second in that freezing hallway.

Before he could think about it anymore, he got up and left, running to the exit. He clambered up the stairs. He grabbed onto the door handle, swinging it open.

And there was John. Still sitting on his bed, head in hands. He looked up and winced at the sight of Paul.

"What? What is it?"

Paul tried to regain his breath. Didn't know what to say.

Maybe originally he was going to have some dramatic sad speech about his love for John. Better yet, maybe he would've just been silent altogether. But he had suffered months of pining and anger and fear and misery. He was sick of being nice about it.

"What the fuck where you doing fooling around with some girl on my bed?"

"For christ's sake Paul, can you shut it for five seconds? Why do you care anyway? Every weekend you're taking home a different girl, so what, I can't have some fun for one evening?" John stood up, his face level to Paul's, practically spitting the words.

"What is it that you want?"

What did he want? He didn't think he had the right words to say.

So he kissed him instead.

***

And fuck, this is what John had been missing. This is what he had wished for during sleepless nights. He felt like he was floating on air. He grabbed Paul by the collar, pulling him closer.

He needed this.

***

Paul had kissed a hundred different girls before. Some were good, some were bad.

But none of them were John Lennon.

John kissed him so intensely it felt like he was on fire. It was like the world had stopped turning. John cupped his face, eyes shut tight as if he was worried what would happen if he opened them.

After a few moments they broke apart, breathing heavy, staring at each other.

"Bloody hell. That was certainly worth the wait."

John grinned. "Shut up Macca." They kissed again, holding each other close. Paul had never felt so _alive_.

He never wanted to let go.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter! It may be short and it late but it's here (Thanks writer's block). This is kind of just filler as I wanted to post but have still got to figure out the story a bit. As always comments and kudos are very helpful, I love hearing your thoughts on it.

Kiss on the lips. Kiss on the nose. Kiss on the cheek.

Kiss him everywhere because you're not sure if you'll ever get to again.

John ran his fingers through Paul's soft mess of hair. He always spent hours combing it into place, but John thought it looked better like this. Messy. Free.

 _I'm going to lose my mind_ , John thought to himself. _I'm going to lose my mind over how goddamn pretty he is_.

"You're making me absolutely mental, you know that?" he whispered.

It was unbelievably corny. He was acting like a dramatic Hollywood star, and Paul was his overly handsome love interest.

"I know." Paul grinned up at him lazily.

And worst of all, he liked it that way. He was too happy to care anyway.

"John...?"

"Mm?"

"When did you start wanting to... _y'know_..." Paul gestured vaguely, staring up at the ceiling.

The two were lying side by side on John's bed, barely an inch between them. Paul was still flushed and grinning like an idiot. He looked like he could hardly believe that they had just done that, and John couldn't blame him. The whole thing felt surreal.

"When did I starting wanting to... what?"

"God, I don't know. When did you want to do all this? When did you start... liking me?"

"For a little while."

He turned towards Paul, leaning on him slightly. "And I presume from the moment you saw me you got a hard-on, didn't you Paulie?" He teased.

"Piss off. You're full of it, you know that? Bet you don't even remember how we met."

"Course I do, at the Woolton Fete!" Paul laughed. "Bullshit."

He wished it was bullshit. It was embarrassing how closely he remembered the details of that day, how they were practically imprinted on his brain. He could put it down to the minute if he wanted to. "It's not bullshit. You had that ugly suit on-"

"Oh and I'm sure you were _very_ fashionable." He smirked. "Okay, okay! Anyway, you and that other guy, what-'is-name, you showed up and played a little something for us. You weren't half bad."

"What high praise." Paul rolled his eyes. "Alright, we need to stop." He sat up, brushing his hair down with his fingers to fix it.

"Aw, give us five more minutes, will ya? I didn't mean it, you were good." John rolled onto his front, staring up at Paul intently.

"It's not... that. It'll look damn suspicious if someone catches us up here, let's not push it."

John knew that Paul was telling the truth. Even just being caught lying side by side or sitting that little bit too close could mean all sorts of things, and yet...

He had spent so much time thinking about Paul and waiting for this to happen. He didn't want to give it up until he had to.

"You're no fun. Everyone's out at that stupid bar anyway, they won't be here for another hour, at least."

Paul paused. "...Alright." And John felt himself smiling again, because Paul had said yes for him, and because he was just so happy about everything he felt like he might explode. Because he had wanted this more than anything and now he had it.

Totally insane. Mental. Crazy. _But then again, who gives a shit?_

He certainly didn't.

***

The bar was full to the brim, even at such a late hour. People weaved in and out of the crowds, holding glasses overflowing with alcohol, dancing to music coming from the dusty jukebox.

It was getting late, maybe too late. Maybe George should've left earlier with John and Paul. He felt a wave of guilt wash over him, remembering how Paul had been.

George still didn't know how to process the news. Didn't really want to, truth be told. He wanted to be supportive, of course, but he didn't know how.

How could you console someone who would never be loved back?

He didn't even want to think of how dangerous it would be if other people knew. Even though he needed time to adjust, George could accept the reality of what was happening and just hope Paul would move on. Other people might not be so accepting. George remembered stories of arrests, sons thrown out of home, getting beaten up in broad daylight. He knew the dirty looks people could give and the way they'd all react.

_I just hope he's okay. No, he'll be fine. This'll all go away soon enough. Paul likes girls, he'll find a pretty bird eventually. He'll forget this ever happened._

George stared into the bottom of his glass, wishing a silent good luck to Paul. What could he do, really?

What could anyone do except wait?

"Hey Geo? I'm gonna go back to your room, okay? Left my jacket there... you alright?" It was Ringo, waving his hand in front of George's face, waiting for a response.

"What? Oh, yeah... alright. That's fine." George handed him the keys.

"Ta."

His thoughts and worries raced through his brain. What would Ringo say about all this? Or the rest of them? Best not to think about it. Paul was smart enough to stay quiet.

He hoped.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! It's been a little while, but the new chapter is here! I saw It 2 recently so Richie and Eddie somewhat inspired this chapter - idk if any It fans are reading this but there's one or two small references to them. Anyway, hopefully you like this chapter. Comments and kudos are very much appreciated!

Five minutes passed, then ten. Then fifteen. They were pushing their luck, Paul knew that, but he couldn't find it in him to care. He was in the arms of the boy he loved, and everything was finally okay.

Every kiss made his heart feel like it was going to jump out of his chest. He had to remind himself to stop and breathe, otherwise he would've never let go. He forgot about his worries, his fears of getting caught.

It was clear it still stirred at the back of John's mind. He would quickly pause and check the clock, or listen out for footsteps, watching out for any signs for someone coming. Eventually, even Paul knew that they couldn't continue, not if they wanted to play it safe.

He pulled away slightly, his skin warm, the feeling of John still stuck in his mind and on his skin. "C'mon Johnny, let's stop now." He whispered.

He watched John's face fall slightly, and he felt a twinge of guilt. A silence came between them. Paul tried to think of something he could say, because he couldn't end it like _this_. "Sorry-"

John placed a hand on his shoulder, shaking his head. Even without saying anything Paul knew what he meant. _It's okay. I don't mind._ "Check out the window, will ya? Make sure nobody's coming." Paul leaned over him, squinting at the darkness. And then he spotted a tiny figure below.

"Shit. It's Ringo!" He jumped up off the bed as if Ringo had walked right in. "The hell's he doing here?"

John looked out the window. "Shit, yeah... We better get out of here." He stood up, still looking out the window. "Hey, what d'ya say we go out for a walk? I've got something to show you anyway."

Paul looked around, confused. "What? Now? Are you joking?"

"Christ, no I'm not joking! If we sneak out the back Ringo won't see us, let's go!"

"Jesus- Fine, fine!" He began to laugh, because only John would drag him out to some secret hideaway in the middle of the night after all the shit they'd been through. He let John pull him outside, their laughter ringing down the hallway.

It had been a wild night, why not let it get even wilder?

***

Cheesy romantic gestures had never been John's thing. Signs of affection were quickies in the bathroom, or crappy gifts - long letters was probably the only truly romantic thing he'd done. Doing things like taking your boyfriend (Was Paul even his boyfriend? He was scared to say) down to a tiny bridge on the far edge of town so you could kiss him breathless wasn't something he'd ever done for anyone. Not that'd he'd ever had a boyfriend to do it with anyway.

They ran through the busy streets, leaving behind the usual bars and clubs they normally went to. For once they'd be spending a night away from the flashing lights of the nightlife. Paul was engrossed, looking around as the seedy pubs slowly disappeared, as they turned down towards a rare deserted area. John, however, couldn't tear himself away from his thoughts.

He was ecstatic, and yet he was scared shitless. Scared for their future. Scared for if Paul got sick of him and decided to leave. Scared if Paul got hurt. What ifs circled his mind, almost making him forget everything that was happening. He had to force himself to focus. _You're with Paul, and he wants to kiss you, and you're okay. Stop getting distracted over stupid things._

"So, Johnny, where are you taking me?" Paul grabbed his hand, letting their fingers intertwine as they strolled down beside the sewers. "It's a bridge, only about five minutes out. Stu showed me - you'll like it." He swore he noticed a hint of jealousy flash across Paul's face, but it was hardly his biggest concern. He put his arm around Paul.

"Needed to go somewhere quiet. Don't want to be, uh, disturbed, again." Paul grinned. "Unlucky bastard."

"Shut up, you're the one who walked in on me!" "You were doing it on my bed!" "That's- Hey, we're here!"

He pointed towards an old bridge, stretching across a muddy brown stream. 

"Here, grab my hand." John pulled him up onto the bridge.

Paul looked around. It was clearly not made with the end goal of looking nice in mind, and was already showing signs of wear. Empty beer bottles and cigarettes were littered across the bridge. Girlfriends and boyfriends had carved their names into the wood, crude messages scribbled across the rails, words in German and English. Moss and weeds grew all over the sides. They sat down along the edge, letting their legs dangle over.

Maybe it wasn't the prettiest, but the view was great. It was just high up enough that you could stare across the city.

"How far away do you reckon Liverpool is?" Paul rested his chin on the lowest beam, gazing out into the night.

"Far enough. Why, do you wanna go back?"

Paul shook his head. "No, I just... Before this happened, I thought you would somehow realise that I... _y'know_... and I thought I'd have to go all the way back to Liverpool. Probably further..." His voice trailed off. "I would've never guessed that we could be like this."

"Are you still scared?"

"Not anymore. Not of you anyway... are you?"

John looked up at the sky, closing his eyes. "Paul, I- I'm fucking terrified. I'm scared that someone will catch us, and they'll lock us up. That they'll send us away, or... or hurt you. Hell, it's only been a few hours and I'm already scared that I might find you one day... on the side of the curb... all bashed up..." Tears began to well up in his eyes, and he felt shame weigh on his shoulders. Why the hell was he saying this anyway?

_Shut up! Stop talking!_

Paul moved towards him, grabbing his hand. "Hey, are you okay?"

John stood up, snatching his hand away, wiping the tears from his face. "No, I'm fucking not okay! I'm scared that one day I won't be able to keep you safe. I'm scared that they'll find out that I'm-"

"John, please-" Paul was obviously trying to calm him down, but fuck, he wasn't calm. Could he ever be when things were like this?

"No! I'm scared that they'll find out what I am! A fairy boy! A queer, a _fucking fag_!" John stumbled backwards. He felt sick. He was shaking and sweating, a dull buzzing blocking out any noise.

"John! John, can you hear me?" But he couldn't hear anything. He could only hear his own thoughts, screaming at him.

_Fag. Freak. Queer._

"Johnny, please, just breathe."

_Pervert. Fairy boy. Homo._

"I know you're scared. I'm scared too. But I promise that nobody will hurt me, and nobody will hurt you. One day... one day maybe nobody will even care. They won't find out, I won't let them. If they try to get anywhere near you I'll kick them to the other side of the world, promise. I've got you."

_Fag. Freak. Queer._

Paul grabbed his shoulders. "Look at me, please." John stared up at him. "We'll be okay, yeah? I swear."

_Pervert. Fairy boy. Homo..._

John breathed out. "Swear?"

Paul nodded. He smiled sadly. "On my mum's grave."

John furiously pulled him into a hug. The anger and hurt faded away, buried in the warmth. "We'll be okay." He whispered. "Sorry..." Paul patted him on the back, returning the unspoken words from earlier. _It's okay. I don't mind._

John leaned in, kissing him lightly on the cheek. "You're fucking amazing, y'know that? Best goddamn thing in this whole town." He leaned in to kiss him again. He peppered him with kisses, letting each one say what he was too scared to. _I love you. I love you. I love you._

_One day I'll tell you, and once I do, I'll never stop saying it._

***

The night slowly drifted by. The two sat, side by side, talking for hours, singing soft melodies and cracking jokes. It was perfect.

Paul couldn't help but watch John, just to make sure that he was okay. He'd never seen John the way he'd seen him that night - so utterly terrified. Seeing John that upset made him feel like shit.

_I should be protecting him. I want him to feel safe._

John noticed him staring and smiled shyly. "I uh, wanted to do something, while we're here."

Paul felt himself blush at the possibilities of what something meant. He watched as John pulled out a small silver pocket knife, glinting in the moonlight.

"Fuck, I'm no good at this." John sat up. "Paul, I'm mad about you. You're so... you're brilliant, and god, I hope you think I am too."

Paul stroked his cheek. "You're not gonna propose to me, are you? It's a bit early for that."

"Fuck off." They both chuckled softly. "I can't explain this without sounding like an idiot, just hang on." John turned towards one of the wooden beams, scratching something onto the surface. Paul leaned back and watched the clouds drift past the moon, listening to John scrape bits of wood off the beam. 

"Alright, you can look." John sat back, revealing his carving.

_J + P_

Among the hundreds of messages scrawled on the bridge, it could easily have gotten lost, but to Paul, it stuck out like a sore thumb.

Just a simple message, binding them together.

"I love it." He grinned, pulling John in for another kiss, and he meant it. Because it was more than just a lovesick carving. It was hope, hope for a future together. It was a promise. "And y'know," John said, holding him close, "I bet in 50 years it'll still be there. Y'think we'll still be here?"

"I'll always be here, as long as you're here."

He'd made many promises that night, and here he was making another one. _I'd promise you the bloody moon, and I'd give it to you, too._

"Thanks for taking me here." He leaned into John, still staring at the carving.

"Anytime."

 

 


End file.
